


Duet For One

by gardnerhill



Category: Basil of Baker Street - All Media Types, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Inspired by Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Music can speak for us when we cannot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duet For One

**Author's Note:**

> For JWP 2013 Prompt #10: **Musical prompt:** Chaconne for violin alone (J. S. Bach, Partita for solo violin No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1004). [The prompt piece can be found here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QqA3qQMKueA&feature=player_detailpage).
> 
> This was written in about the length of time the piece takes to play.

Each stroke of that masterful bow above us was like a knife in the heart. It is a beautiful and haunting piece. Every word that human could not speak poured from his strings.

Basil and I looked up in shared silence, our supper momentarily untouched (Mrs. Judson knows to leave the kettle on the hob and the dishes covered when a case calls; it is not the first time we have dined after midnight).

“That is the sound of a breaking heart,” I said. “But why?”

“One set of footsteps above us.” Basil looked up toward our ceiling – our human tenants’ floor.

A chill overcame me. “That Doctor – _his_ Doctor! Surely he isn’t - ?”

“Tonight, he may as well be,” Basil murmured. “Heavy dragging sounds the last few days – furniture being moved. Boxes of belongings. We have heard no quarrel from them – and what quarrel could separate _them_? Therefore the Doctor has left him to take a wife.”

My own heart aching for that solitary cry of sorrow, I reached across the table to hold my mate’s paw. “Humans make it so … _complicated_ ,” I said softly. I would never understand their terror of their own sexuality.

Basil shook his head. “His Doctor is conventional in his desires, David. He, however – in this way, at least - is like us.”

I laced my fingers with Basil’s – long and graceful, meant for that selfsame instrument. “They will always remain the staunchest of friends.”

“Cold comfort tonight, my dear fellow.” Basil pulled his fingers away from mine and left the table without excusing himself. I poured more tea, sad for the human and aching for the empathy Basil felt for him.

I was not surprised to hear my friend’s own violin join that lament. I do not know if the human knew of our presence, or heard Basil’s accompaniment; I do know I slept alone that night, for Basil kept the human company till dawn, playing that melancholy and beautiful piece in unison with him.


End file.
